indianpoets

Campfire

The light fell on us
and you noticed how     
I had dropped the eye/I
to see 
without a maze of mirrors

I used to write
"you and I"
[self-reference is for famous poets?]
with regard to 
a Pozzo and a Lucky,
but as the language decreed,
the twigs had snapped
into the baritone of the firewood. 

yet
I seem to think
there is a little bit of "we" 
about us
in the bite of the fire--
we are together in chaos,
if not order. 








The Farmer

The Sunset field by E M Shafer

And they spread across my momentary page
with their feet deep in the wet grass
and they point their hands in the sky,
the rays are always sunset-orange,
they stand
looking over the field,
the river of blood
of their forefathers
flowing under their ground,
and they say
and they repeat,
someone must endure
for the debts of this world
to be freed.